


Make it impossible

by elsa



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Auguste/Damen friendship, Damen is a sweetheart, Inspired by that quote, Laurent POV, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsa/pseuds/elsa
Summary: "Do you remember me? It's me. Laurent." The last time Laurent saw him was when they were riding in a group with Auguste and several of their friends the summer after he turned fourteen, laughing when they raced across a meadow flushed with wildflowers, Damen greeting him cheerfully by his first name, right before turning to Auguste. It must have been three or four years ago. Laurent added awkwardly, "Auguste's younger brother."Inspired by the quote and set some years after: ‘Thank you, I know exactly how it would have been...’ Laurent is of age and can't stop looking at his brother's best friend.





	Make it impossible

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Thank you, I know exactly how it would have been. You and Auguste would have been slapping each other on the back and watching tournaments, and I would have been trailing around tugging on your sleeve, trying to get a look in edgewise.’

One of the good things about being the prince of Vere is that when one of the best swordsmen in the surrounding countries comes over along with a delegation for a tournament and an embassy visit, he could take the pitcher of water the servant was delivering, and walk into his tent.

"Auguste, I told you I --." Prince Damianos turned, then paused. 

"Hello, Damen," Laurent said, placing the water carefully on the table. "I just came in to wish you good luck for the tournament." 

"Thank you," said Damen slowly, still gazing at him, as if in confusion. Laurent felt his smile slip, disappear. 

"Do you remember me? It's me. Laurent." The last time Laurent saw him was when they were riding in a group with Auguste and several of their friends the summer after he turned fourteen, laughing when they raced across a meadow flushed with wildflowers, Damen greeting him cheerfully by his first name, right before turning to Auguste. Laurent added awkwardly, "Auguste's younger brother." 

"Oh. Yes. Laurent. Your Highness." He sounded embarrassed. Laurent thought Damen might have thought he was a courtier. 

‘It’s been three or four years now, hasn’t it?” Laurent said. 

At this point, the tent flap opened and Auguste came in. He looked surprised to see Laurent there, but cheerfully clapped Damen's shoulder and greeted him. Damen spoke pleasantly to him, and then looked at Laurent briefly. "It's nice to see you again, Laurent."

"He's gotten taller, hasn't he? He's still growing," Auguste said affectionately. 

Laurent was hideously conscious of going pink, slowly, in a way he hadn't for years. 

Auguste and Damen were both looking at him expectantly now, as if just waiting for him to leave, so they could get out their wine and talk about their hunting exploits, or figure out ways to tighten and block the slave trade through coordinated monetary policy between their countries, or -- whatever they did together. 

Laurent stopped leaning against the table, got up, said he'd better go; and left. Meeting Damen again hadn't gone the way he thought it would, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Auguste eyeing Damen, as if he was barely suppressing by force of will asking him what his younger brother was doing in there. Laurent walked faster.

Auguste and Damen would talk it out -- they always did. It wasn't surprising that they were so close, anyway. Auguste and Damen had been nothing but in each other's company during the Patran Civil War five years ago, both trying to prevent bloodshed spilling across the Vere and Akielos borders, living in each other's pockets in camp and woods and whatever else. Auguste had said he'd owed Damen his life, multiple times; but before then the only time Laurent had seen him was in furtive glimpses across the courtyard, or in his older brother's company; this year he was finally old enough to join in the events. 

He went to watch the warmup to the long sword and the tracks for the horse races being prepared, and remembered the previous day he saw Damen lay someone out flat in a move that he had watched Auguste do. It had sent chills down his spine because Laurent had always thought it was Auguste who had come up with that move, that it was some work of swordsmanship that belonged to his brilliant older brother. But if it was Damen who had done that -- Damen who had taught Auguste that -- 

When Auguste talked to him now it seemed like Laurent was seeing Damen through him, as if Laurent had known Damen all his life. 

Back on the great lawn, courtiers were walking back and forth, greeting him. 

"Hello, your highness. Are you here to watch the long sword?" Aimeric sauntered by in the procession, watching him, smiling.

"Yes. You'll be in the event next year, won't you?" Laurent said. "I've been seeing you practice."

"Well," Aimeric said, looking away at the track, "I've been taking lessons." 

After a pause, he said, "Will you be with Auguste during the festivities?"

"Oh! Yes." 

"I wasn't sure, since you weren't last year." 

Laurent was then buttonholed by Vere, who asked him about the status of some diplomatic notes. 

Laurent wasn't at court very often, he was staying at Chastillon now, but he wrote letters all the time, talked to everyone who came and went. He was going to go out this year, he was determined. He was going to stop being such a bookworm. He was going to drink wine and watch sex parties and do all the things Auguste thought he couldn't even imagine. 

.

The next day, he was walking behind the barracks when he overheard conversations that had started happening, for a while, from everyone. 

"I saw Prince Laurent today," 

"Do you think he ever loosens up?" 

"It's not for lack of people trying." 

"He'd give it up for the right man, for sure." 

The voices from the barracks stopped. Prince Damen walked onto the grass, looking grave. He looked up as Laurent was standing there, taking a walk home from the short way across the courtyard, and met his eyes. 

It's not that important, Laurent thought, out of distance, trying to stop his embarrassment, later. It was happening for a while, after all. He hoped Damen hadn't given any credence to the slander, which he'd obviously heard. He didn't want Damen to think he -- encouraged the soldiers, or -- 

The next day, Auguste put thirty soldiers on leave for disrespectful conduct and made some remarks that left the recruits looking terrified. He stalked around in the icy cut-down style that was his version of being huffy. During the entertainments that evening, he and Damen were on the balcony, even though Auguste kept being interrupted by people wanting to talk to him. Laurent had went to give him a message from one of the couriers, but he paused behind the vestibule, hesitating.

"-- wouldn't imagine -- never going to be able to, ever," Auguste was saying in a grim voice. "I'm going to ban all this by law. I'll make it impossible." Damen sounded amused, but Auguste was in high state.

"Jord in the Guard has the makings of a first rate captain, he's risen above his birth, but he's too busy dragging lovesick people off Laurent’s doors to be able to advance in the service. I wouldn't have believed the number of noblemen who will make fools of themselves over their prince." 

"Is he very cold?" Damen said. "Vere was telling me." 

"He's not cold. But people forget their honor, they would make fools of themselves. His looks are against him. They would let him crush their pride and drag them about like slaves." 

"I'd probably laugh," he added after a moment, "if it were anyone other than my brother," and Laurent leaned against the wall and wanted to die, just die. 

"Ravennel?" Aimeric said to him later that night, when they were sitting some distance away from the festivities, his brow wrinkled quizzically. "Why would you want to go to Ravennel?" 

"Or Fortaine." 

There were servants passing around plates of drinks and snacks, and talking quietly on the collonade. Aimeric said, "For what?" 

"Border duty." 

If he ran off to border duty, at least he'd be able to get some long sword practice in instead of hearing people tell Laurent that he's beautiful. He was never going to look Jord in the eye after this. 

"There is no border duty there. Ever since we've had peace with Akielos you can stroll across in a sun-hat. The guards exchange picnic baskets." Aimeric paused, and said, "I don't know why you'd go to Fortaine. Honestly." He shook his head, almost reflexively. 

One of the courtiers drew him aside, to pass a message to his father, and Laurent was left alone for the moment. It was a warm night, firelight flickering shadows against the carved ornate walls. At that moment, he heard gentle laughter and a woman's voice saying, "have you seen Damen?" 

Laurent turned, and looked up at the woman who had come to walk past him. 

It was hard to notice her intelligent eyes, which instantly seemed to Laurent to reveal an even tempered mathematical mind within; her relaxed demeanor; and her quiet, ruthless confidence. She didn't look at all like the type to be easily pleased; there was a hard line to her mouth, she looked around at the palace grounds with eyes slightly narrowed, a hint of something, indestructible, in her. 

It was hard to notice all that, though. It was hard to notice anything but her extraordinary good looks. 

"Your Highness," she said, smiling, her eyes sliding past his, and it did not seem suspicious but only as if she had better things to think about. Her short, silky-looking hair was slightly mussed; her limpid blue eyes crinkled at the corners. She looked happy. 

.

After the talks were over, there were just the tournament and sporting events, and Laurent began to see Damen and Auguste increasingly on the mats in the training room during spare moments. They were dressed in loose practice clothing, and looked like Damen was teaching him Akelion wrestling, and demonstrating ways to go from a neutral to offense to pinning position. Laurent remembered seeing Damen in practice, how he was viciously effective, never stopping an attack, driving his opponent on the defensive, overpowering him. 

Now he looked solemn and careful, as if in study or meditation, murmuring a series of instructions and letting Auguste carefully hold him down in a controlling grip. 

"That's -- in Akielos, there aren't any locked hands allowed," Damen said, "if your opponent is on their knees."

"Alright." 

"That's a good hold." Auguste forced him down, and Damen flipped over and took his arm. "If your back is partly on the ground that's-- two points."

"Show me how you did the takedown yesterday." 

"Your opponent is face down. Loop your arm there, hand on my waist. Now try to--" 

They began to move more quickly, casually tussling, Auguste picking him up and Damen flipping him over quickly, moving out of his grasp, and moving him to the floor, and going down with him. Auguste grabbed the inside of his thigh and pulled him over. Damen's shoulder moved, his legs slipped apart, he turned over, resisting, head against Auguste's neck, controlling him. Damen's thighs were powerfully bunched; his whole body honed, an elegant dip in his back; the edge of his shirt slipped up, a flash of a sharp iliac crest. 

In the Veretian martial arts fighting, anything was allowed, biting, choking; in Akelios, Damen was saying, an opponent would be reprimanded for putting one arm against a neck; or for holding an arm during a fall, or for pressure against a natural range of movement. Auguste sprawled cozily next to him after a few more practice holds, out on the ground, relaxed. 

"So, how'd this beginner do? You're the defending wrestler in Akelios, aren't you?" His eye met Damen's with calm playfulness. "I hate to say it, but I don't think I'm as good." 

"Maybe almost the best wrestler," said Damen with a smile in his tone, and when Auguste tried a hold Damen obligingly let himself be pushed onto his stomach. Then he reversed control and then lifted him over his shoulder with a shocking casual strength -- and then they both started laughing, Auguste turning to pull him down, putting an arm between Damen's shoulderblades, wrapping one arm around his chest, knee braced and trying to pin him. 

"Your Highness." 

Jord was trying to get his attention for some time now. Laurent dragged his eyes away with what seemed like great effort. 

"There's some more space if you want to practice sparring in the south training room," Jord said. "Should we go?" 

"I -- yes. I'll go." 

He ran into Aimeric in the hallway on the way there. 

"Have you been watching Auguste again?" Aimeric said without preamble and in exasperation, as Jord was walking up ahead unseen. "You've been practicing hours and hours a day last year. I hope you won't do that again -- I could barely keep up." 

"Well, perhaps you can choose a different partner. Anyway, I think I'm going to take a break from practicing for a while." 

Aimeric said incredulously, "What? I didn't mean that. I mean, you're finally just going to face it that you'll never be as good a swordsman as your brother?"

"I've already faced that." He hated it, when Auguste would tell visitors, "Laurent is an excellent horseman," as if in apology. Any fool could see just by looking at the two of them that Laurent was never going to be as tall or as strong as his older brother. 

"Right. He's just better, isn't he?" Aimeric said. "He's better with a sword. He's better on a horse. He's better in the tournament. He's better at getting Prince Damianos underneath him--"

Laurent glanced around quickly. Aimeric looked around, too. "Sorry, was I supposed to pretend not to notice the way you've been staring at Damen ever since he came like he's a piece of --" 

"Damen was teaching him wrestling. That was for sport," Laurent nearly shouted. "Also, Auguste likes women." 

"You know, I think Damen likes blondes," Aimeric said. "Lady Jokaste was with us at cards last night, let me tell you she is ice cold." 

Laurent reminded himself that he couldn't have Aimeric strangled, because Aimeric's father was on the council. As they reached the second practice room Jord saw Aimeric and gave them both precedence. Aimeric turned around as he walked by and gave Jord a sweet smile. 

.

He lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, while Aimeric was making fun of him, and probably sleeping with the captain of his guard. 

It was different for Laurent. He needed to think things through. 

He was thinking about Damen, his hand on a sword, or kneeling on the wrestling room floor -- it got him so confused. I'm not going to think about that, he thought resolutely. I'm not going to think about Damen, his clothes off maybe like they did in Akielon wrestling, the glimpse of the time he saw him once in the river, or sprawled on the grass laughing -- 

He had resolved this quite firmly. 

Then Laurent was reading in his brother's rooms the next day and Damen came in and without preamble began to take off his clothes. 

The day was clear, the morning light shown through the window. 

He had not seen Laurent, it was clear that he thought he was alone, and the movement was slow and unhurried, leisurely. 

Laurent swallowed. Then he sat there as it continued, frozen in shock, his hand pressed against the window, not sure if this was still some -- dream -- or-- 

He must have made a movement, or a noise, because Damen looked up, noticed Laurent sitting in the window nook staring at him, and stilled in shock. You could see he had barely prevented himself from jerking away and hitting a table and knocking over the candles, or something. 

"Prince Laurent!"

"What are you doing here?" Laurent said. 

"We're going hunting. Auguste told me it would be faster if I use his rooms in the west wing to change. What are YOU doing here?" 

"I use my brother's rooms," Laurent said, fighting down his hysteria, "to read." 

You couldn't really see him blush, but you could see Damen thinking about grabbing his shirt to cover himself, and preventing himself from doing so just barely. Was he, Laurent thought incredulously, shy? 

"Well," Damen said, not reaching for his clothes and deciding apparently it was best to act as normal as possible while completely undressed, "I'm sorry I interrupted." 

"It's alright," Laurent said, "I'll leave." Laurent slid off the window seat, took his book, and walked to the door, as if he was a child again, dismissed by his older brother, just that same feeling. Say something, he implored himself. You're not a child. You can --

He passed Damen on the way to the door, then forced himself to turn and to look at him at the threshold. 

His eyes dipped down slowly, the way he'd seen Ancel do to Vere once, the pets with their courtiers. He could see Damen's eyes widen a bit.

Damen was looking at him with astonishment, and this close Laurent could see maybe a shadow of a blush on his neck, and every defined muscle in his body. There was really little left to the imagination. Laurent met his eyes. 

"No, don't move," Laurent said. His normally diffident voice sounded leisurely and confident and teasing. Damen's jaw dropped. "You can stay as you are," Laurent added, before closing the door. 

So that was that, he thought, walking away. Damen was possibly so mortified by Auguste's younger brother coming on to him that he didn't tell Auguste, and Laurent appeared to avoid reprobation for several days. Laurent tried not to care or worry about this, because in the next few days Damen and Auguste continued to have regular focused Akelion-style wrestling sessions, which were conpletely distinguishable from Veretian wrestling styles because it simply looked very much like Damen had just let Auguste get on top of him on the floor of the training room and pick him up and neck him and feel up every part of his body. 

‘Is that actually considered wrestling?’ Aimeric said.

‘Yes.” Laurent said tonelessly. Auguste had told him how much his holds and form had improved during his practice sessions with Damen. 

‘I heard they do this without clothes in Akielos,” Aimeric said, looking on in interest. 

"Don't be crude, I'm sure they don't."

"I'm just saying, the next time you get an invitation to Akielos, perhaps you could go..." 

Then a couple days later, they were in the armory and practice room and Damen was looking at swords. Laurent came up to him. Damen looked at him and fumbled the sword he had picked up. There were a few other soldiers there, and members of the Guard; there was cheerful talking in the background. Laurent watched him. 

"Good morning, your highness."

There was a long pause. Damen looked, for the first time as hesitant as Laurent felt. 

"Hello," Laurent said, smiling. 

"Hello."

"Hello Laurent," Auguste said, appearing out of nowhere from the practice room doors and solidly butting in right between them. 

"Laurent is quite a good swordsman," he said to Damen. 

"Are you?" 

"He is," Auguste said, and actually looked like he wanted to ruffle Laurent's hair. 

"I practice with my Guard sometimes," Laurent said, staring at his practice blade. Now that Auguste was here he felt flat and extraneous.

"Would you like to spar sometime? We can," Damen looked at Laurent's probably over-serious expression and looked like he was about to laugh, "keep it friendly." 

"No," Laurent said. 

Auguste frowned at him and he ignored him. 

"Well, next time, perhaps," Damen said in an overly polite, almost formal way. 

"Yes, perhaps later." 

It was simple enough, maybe: Damen liked Auguste. 

Damen was careful around him, he didn't willingly spend too much time around him. It was an obvious thing, that Damen disliked him. The only time Damen paid attention to Laurent was when Laurent shocked him. Or when Auguste, obviously, made Damen talk to his kid brother. 

Laurent remembered how many times Damen had been around Auguste, casually, his hand on his shoulder, talking and laughing, their easy physicality; he never had to think about it. He was so casual and comfortable with Auguste -- but to Laurent -- he hardly noticed him, even when Laurent was standing right there — hardly a look, hardly a word.

It got him so worked up that the next time Damen turned to look at him across the practice fields, Laurent deliberately turned away and walked off and he didnt care what he thought. 

You're being unreasonable, Laurent told himself. 

Damen had other things to do: they just finished pulling through a comprehensive trade agreement and joint defense pact. He and Auguste were good friends, with a close sense of honor. Damen had a lot of lovers in Akielos, people who were accomplished, and who knew what they were doing. His whole life, he'd never had a refusal. Damen had enough good looking blondes around; he didn't need another one. Laurent felt his analytical mind kicking up, the thoughts that never stayed still for long. 

Laurent could see the way Damen felt about the Vere court, the court of his father and uncle -- the sex everywhere, the pets, the people who were increasingly blatant with Laurent, and called him frigid when he refused. Damen watched this all with a incredulous look, an unconscious, instinctive disdain and arrogance in his eye. Pride was his weakness.

He was a man who wasn't easily in danger, who didn't need any spectators or jewelry or showy displays to be generous to a sophisticated lover. 

Laurent's stupid infatuation was going to go away. Any day now. 


End file.
